


fra pandolf by design

by alykapedia



Series: an ever-fixed mark [5]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Regency, Intersex Omegas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-15 04:15:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13023036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alykapedia/pseuds/alykapedia
Summary: Viktor has three paintings commissioned the very first time: one of him, Yuuri, and Yura, another featuring just him and Yuuri, and finally, a third one of Yuuri that only three people in the world will ever have the privilege of seeing because Viktor might just commit the most gruesome of murders should anyone else other than him, Yuuri, or the artist, sees it.It, being a painting of Yuuri in complete dishabille, modesty preserved only by artfully placed swathes of silk and jewelry.





	fra pandolf by design

**Author's Note:**

> HAHA hello!! In celebration of my freedom from med school (l o l), I come bearing porn of the regency variety. This was originally written a while back(?), but I refrained from posting it because a passage spoiled a few important details in the main story. Rereading this, I've decided to cut that spoilery bit out and well, you now have this!!
> 
> Title is from one of my favorite sonnets: My Last Duchess by Robert Browning, which is, uh, basically about murder. This fic, of course, has nothing to do with murder, but more to do with Lord Nikiforov and his esteemed husband having too much sex. Yet again.
> 
> Still working on the next chapter for the main fic, so uhhh, hopefully this would tide us all over. I thank everyone for their patience and understanding :)
> 
> [forochel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/forochel/pseuds/forochel) did beta work for the first half of this, i.e. before the fucking, so uh, any and all remaining mistakes are my fault HAHA.
> 
> (EDIT: I forgot to mention but this happens after the events of[rouge my knees and roll my stockings down](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11487138) so you'll likely recognize one tiny detail *winks*

Like many things, this starts with an indulgence.

An indulgence that involves his dearest darling in swathes of expensive silks and the finest of cotton, outfitted like a god with gold and jewels adorning every inch of him. It’s no secret that Viktor likes showering Yuuri with lavish gifts, a habit that his exasperated husband is loath to scold him for as it brings him great pleasure seeing Yuuri surrounded by all the beautiful things Viktor provides for him. It’s not even the alpha in him; the alpha in him would be satisfied with Yuuri safe and content; the lavishness is just Viktor.

Being treated to a show had been enough, Viktor had once thought, treasuring each and every time Yuuri humors him by wearing the most recent garb, be it a dress or a set of chemise and stockings Viktor had bought on one of his trips. But then Chris, who is, as always, a fount of inimitable wisdom and knowledge, sends him a letter detailing how he’d finally succumbed to his dear mama’s urging and had a portrait done of him and the esteemed Capt. Giacometti and needless to say, the idea had taken root in Viktor’s mind.

And so he’d sent a letter of his own to his good friend, asking that Chris send his artist to Viktor’s estate at the earliest convenience.

Yuuri and Yura both had been less than enthused with the idea when they’d found out, Yura showing his displeasure by yelling about Viktor going senile in his old age and how this portrait business had to do with him losing all of his hair and wanting to preserve the memory of it while he still can. Meanwhile, Yuuri had given him a _look_ which Viktor had taken to mean that while Yuuri was not very pleased with his decision, he would deign to let himself be painted because he loved Viktor very, very much. He’s gotten quite good at deciphering Yuuri’s expressions after almost two years of marriage, and once he’d shooed Yura away, Viktor had then proceeded to show Yuuri just how much he appreciated it.

Viktor has three paintings commissioned the very first time: one of the three of them, another featuring just him and Yuuri, and finally, a third one of Yuuri that only three people in the world will ever have the privilege of seeing because Viktor might just commit the most gruesome of murders should anyone else other than him, Yuuri, or the artist, sees it. It, being a painting of Yuuri in complete dishabille, modesty preserved only by artfully placed swathes of silk and jewelry. Until now, Viktor has absolutely no idea how he’d convinced Yuuri to pose for it, but he has a feeling it has more to do with their artist—a disinterested yet very talented young woman who barely batted an eyelash at Viktor’s request and only looked at Yuuri long enough to paint him, and when she did, she looked at him in a very detached manner that made Yuuri feel at ease—than anything Viktor may have done.

Any other person would stop at one scandalous painting; any other person would never even dream of having a scandalous painting of their beloved commissioned in the first place, but as it has been proven time and again, Viktor Nikiforov, lord of his estate and Yuuri’s heart, is not just any other person. So he commissions for another, and another, and another, until he has to clear out an entire room at their country home where he can display all the paintings he’s had done, along with a series of framed sketches the artist had presented to him at the very last session when she’d said that she will no longer be able to paint for them because she was moving back to France in a fortnight.

It feels like the end of an era and Viktor almost spends an entire afternoon nursing a glass of brandy, brooding pensively until Yuuri slips inside the room, resplendent in a blue yukata, and proceeds to sit on Viktor’s lap. There’s something about the way Yuuri does it that ignites a fire in his loins, as if Viktor’s lap is a throne and Yuuri is reclaiming his rightful place.

“I thought I might find you here,” Yuuri murmurs, deftly plucking the glass of brandy from Viktor’s grasp and finishing it off. Viktor, as always, is caught by the entrancing and far too tempting curve of Yuuri’s throat and his lips quickly find a home in the smooth hollow behind Yuuri’s ear. “I cannot help but think that my lord husband prefers the company of these paintings more than my own.”

“My darling, my star,” Viktor says, glancing up from where he’s been mouthing at Yuuri’s mating gland, wide-eyed and stricken at Yuuri’s words. “Beloved, you know that to be false—”

Yuuri hums, casting a contemplative glance at the wall of paintings his husband has amassed. His gaze finally falls on the most recent one, tame compared to the others; Yuuri wrapped in a scarlet kimono with its obi tied at the front, with rouge on his lips and kohl lining his eyes, and Viktor can display it outside of this room if he ever wanted to, as it looks innocent enough. Not everyone would know the implication of the placement of the obi, and only Yuuri and Viktor would be privy to the fact that underneath the heavy silks, Yuuri’s cunt had been leaking slick and Viktor’s seed.

Blinking down at Viktor, who was now looking up at him imploringly, Yuuri traces a thumb along the curve of Viktor’s bottom lip and asks, “Do I?” He’s quickly rewarded with a nod and Viktor’s tongue drawing his thumb inside the wet cavern of his mouth, a terrible trick that Viktor knows he will fall for every time, so Yuuri pulls his hand away. “And yet here you are, instead of our bedroom taking advantage of the fact that we are all alone.”

The servants are out on a much deserved break, leaving them to fend for themselves until the morrow, while Yura had gone and bullied Mr. Altin into going riding with him. The two won’t be returning until dinner, especially after Yura had seen and scowled at the look on Yuuri’s face when he’d waved them off.  

“Do you not want me anymore?”

The words have barely left his lips before Viktor is capturing his lips in a filthy kiss, tongue licking inside Yuuri’s mouth and leaving him breathless. One hand squeezes at Yuuri’s hip while the other tangles at his hair, tugging at the short strands to tilt Yuuri’s head further into the kiss.

Viktor’s scent floods the room and one whiff has Yuuri heady and almost delirious with desire, slick building up between his thighs, cock hard and already leaking. When Viktor pulls away, Yuuri is treated to the sight of Viktor’s icy blue eyes swallowed up by the black of his pupils, blown wide with want.

“There will never be a time when I will not want you, my Yuuri,” Viktor gasps against his lips, as sincere as the first time and all the times after that. “I want you with such depth that it frightens me sometimes.”

Yuuri’s eyes go dark and heavy-lidded as he shifts, grinding down against the hard line of Viktor’s cock straining underneath his trousers. “Then show me,” he whispers, “look only at me.”

Viktor is, as always, terribly obliging, and his eyes never leave Yuuri as he carries him to the chaise lounge and lays him down on it. His gaze never wavers when he tugs at Yuuri’s yukata to reveal that Yuuri has foregone smallclothes and is completely bare underneath the cool silk. And Viktor keeps his promise still, even as he is sinking his aching cock between the slick folds of Yuuri’s sex, a groan rumbling out of him when his entire length is encased in Yuuri’s tight and exquisite heat.

“Oh, my love,” Viktor croons sweetly, Yuuri gasping as his inner walls flutter deliciously around Viktor’s cock, as if welcoming him home. “I have never been able to look away since the first time I saw you.”

They are the last words that either of them manage, coherence lost under an onslaught of pure, unadulterated pleasure. Words are unnecessary when their bodies know this dance well, their gasps and drawn-out moans filling up the silence instead.

Viktor is relentless in his movements, hips pistoning and claiming Yuuri again and again and marking him from the inside out. It’s all sorts of obscene, an animalistic joining that thrills Yuuri to his very bones. He loves it when Viktor gets this way; so desperate for Yuuri and all that he has, as if there’s nothing else in the world that he will ever want. As if being buried inside Yuuri is the greatest thing Viktor will ever do.

And perhaps it was, for Viktor most certainly acts as if it is so, relentlessly tearing Yuuri apart with his searing kisses and lingering touches, before creating him anew, breathing life and love and adoration into Yuuri’s bitten lips.

“Vity _ah_!”

Eyelashes trembling against flushed cheeks, Yuuri clenches tight around Viktor’s hard length when he feels the familiar heat building up in his belly. He’s nearing his peak, body trembling with anticipation as Viktor continues to drive into him, filling him completely with every thrust. Yuuri hiccups, baring his neck in a clear invitation; his mating gland a vicious red, eager for Viktor to renew his mark.

“Vitya, _please_.”

Yuuri’s climax hits just as Viktor sinks his teeth into the swollen gland, and his release sprays hot and wet between the throbbing and drenched heat between his already soaked thighs. He’s still shaking in the aftermath when Viktor follows after a few more bone-rattling thrusts, burying his seed deep within Yuuri and for a breathless second, Yuuri imagines it taking root in his womb where it might finally bear fruit.

It’s a bit of a surprise. Yuuri’s never felt this way before outside of his heats, when the urge to procreate and have Viktor’s children is at its strongest, and he finds himself touching the flat expanse of his stomach pensively.

“Ah,” Viktor begins a few breaths later, drawing Yuuri away from thoughts of pregnancies and child rearing, which surprisingly do not scare him as much as it used to. “It really is a shame that Miss Bompard had to go back to France. I would love for another portrait of you just like this.”

Yuuri barely resists the urge to roll his eyes, because _of course_ , Viktor would somehow circle back to the topic of paintings. “Like this?” Yuuri echoes weakly as he rearranges himself on the chaise lounge, breath leaving him in a thin, reedy moan when the movement causes Viktor to slip out, followed by a heady gush of slick and seed. Viktor hadn’t knotted him and Yuuri _wants_ ; wants the stretch, wants to be filled, wants Viktor inside him always.

Viktor nods as he sits back on his haunches, hands gentle on Yuuri’s flanks, arranging him so that Yuuri is spread out in a lewd tableau. “Completely and utterly debauched,” he murmurs, trailing fingers down Yuuri’s ruddy cocklet and between his swollen folds, spreading them with a pleased hum before pulling away. “With my spend still leaking out of your sweet, lovely cunt.”

There’s a reprimand burning on his lips, but Yuuri only manages a small scream when Viktor pulls him off the lounge even more, so that his legs are thrown over Viktor’s broad back.

“But I suppose it wouldn’t have worked, I would never have let anyone else see you like this. Even Miss Bompard,” Viktor is saying, and with this new position, Yuuri can feel his breath against the dripping and sensitive core of him, close enough to touch. _And taste_ , a small voice adds when Yuuri meets Viktor’s eyes and sees the desire still burning in them. “Do you suppose Yura and Mr. Altin will be back for dinner?”

“What? Why?”

Yuuri blinks at the non-sequitur, and he pushes himself up on his elbows to cast a bewildered look at Viktor, who smiles wickedly and says, “Because there is something else I would rather sup on.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> (Meanwhile, Yuri and Mr. Altin are having dinner at the nearby inn because they recognized the hungry look on Yuuri's face when they left. And the last thing either of them want to witness is those two in the throes of passion.)
> 
> If you enjoyed this, please do consider leaving a comment and [reblogging](http://alykapediaaa.tumblr.com/post/168574127576/fra-pandolf-by-design-alykapedia-yuri-on) it on my tumblr! <3


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